The Time Traveler's Dilemma
by Nivenner
Summary: H/Hr. A Hermione timeturner story, postHBP. Just as the trio sets out to find the remaining four horcruxes, an encounter with a timeturner sends Hermione on a strange adventure back and forth in time that effects their lives in dangerous ways.
1. Chapter 1

**The Time-Traveler's Dilemma**

A Hermione timeturner story, set post-HBP. Just as Harry, Ron, and Hermione set out to find the remaining four horcruxes, an encounter with a timeturner sends Hermione on a strange adventure back and forth in time. She sees things she ought not, she experiences things yet to come, and learns truths about the past both useful to the trio's journey and destructive to their lives. Based loosely on The Time Traveler's Wife. Eventual HHr.

Drama/Mystery/Romance Rating: 3rd-5th Years  
Disclaimer: I do not own anything having to do with Harry Potter.

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**Chapter One: Prologue**

"Fred! George! Do you _have_ to use spells for the silverware? Ginny, don't you dare _wingardium leviosa _that wedding cake for _one _second longer, let Charlie handle it! Ron, do I _look _as though I'm above spanking?" Mrs. Weasley's voice rang through the backyard of the Burrow as though unaware of the several dozen wedding guests now filing from Bill and Fleur's wedding ceremony to the reception. Scattered around the Burrow's wide garden were clusters of tables complete with white linen, small bouquets of flowers and everlasting candles. Sparklers floated in midair above the crowd drawing things like hearts and cupids, which then burst like so many rubies and diamonds above their heads.

Through this, jets of light from four separate wand tips zinged through the air, making champagne glasses, stacks of plates, and Bill and Fleur's rather tall wedding cake whiz unsupported out the kitchen door followed by the four youngest Weasley children.

At the edge of this ginger-headed chaos stood Hermione, a particularly sharp look on her face as she surveyed Ron start to levitate a small army of cutlery to follow George's champagne glasses.

"You know," said a voice very close to her ear, "nobody's saying that _you'd_ have to levitate knives if you and Ron ever got together."

"Stop reading my mind Harry," Hermione hissed, her eyes now tracking the progression of the wedding cake, which was heading straight for the back of Mr. Weasely's head.

He chuckled. "When is that going to happen, anyway, if I'm allowed to ask?" He asked, gesturing at Ron.

She spared him a desperate sort of look. "You're allowed ... and no, I have absolutely no idea." Then, eyeing Ron race his cutlery past George's champagne glasses: "I mean, when we're not bickering, he's doing things like_ that_, levitating cutlery ... Oh Harry, look at him, it's just so ... so juvenile!" she said faintly, but stifled a laugh as she watched Mrs. Weasley attempt to pry George's wand from him.

"Hermione, duck!" said Harry suddenly, and he forced her down into the grass just as Ron lost control of one of the knives so it zoomed straight over her head.

"Whoops! Sorry 'bout that, Hermione," she heard Ron mutter sheepishly as she turned to find Harry pealing himself off the ground next to her, just having narrowly escaped another of Ron's knives.

"C'mon," he said, helping Hermione to her feet.

"Oh thanks, Harry, but I'm perfectly alright," chided Hermione as Harry made to brush bits of dirt and grass from her dress robes. "Oh I'm just going to _kill_ Ron," she muttered under her breath, and she took out her wand to siphon the remaining grass stains from her robes.

Harry laughing and Hermione seething, they approached the tables to find Mrs. Weasley shaking her wand at Fred, George, Ron and Ginny like some overly large admonitory finger. "... And if you lot put one more toe out of line, so help me ...! No more wands tonight, do you hear?"

The four Weasleys, now lined up in front of their mother, nodded vigorously. "Yes, Mum."

"Ah, Mrs. Weasley," said a throaty voice from behind them, and Fleur appeared almost out of thin air next to Fred as the wedding guests started to find their seats. She was hanging elegantly onto Bill's arm, her gown shimmering in the light of the sparklers. "Zhey were only trying to 'elp. Let's not ruin zee reception with shouting, shall vee?" And she swept to the centermost table and seated herself next to Bill as the guests filled in the surrounding tables, her white-blonde hair rippling slightly despite the fact that it was a humid, breezeless evening.

The guest list, noted Hermione as she walked with Harry to a table at the edge of the garden, read like a "who's who" of Dumbledore's most trusted allies. Members of the Order of Phoenix, including Kingsley Shackleboot, Mad Eye Moody, Lupin and a lavender-haired Tonks, and at least fifteen other Aurors arranged themselves at three of the tables; Hogwarts professors, including tiny Professor Flitwick, Professor Slughorn, Professor Sprout, Hagrid, and their newly-minted Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, slid into chairs at another. Hermione turned in her chair and watched an odd assortment of witches and wizards she had never met before, who she assumed worked either at the Ministry or Gringotts, fill in the rest of the seats.

As Harry plopped down beside her, Hermione brought her attention to him, taking in his curiously roving eyes. "Looking for Ginny?" she asked him gently, who, dodging an exploding heart, was winding her way towards them through the crowd, followed by Fred, George, Charlie, and Ron.

She wasn't entirely certain what had happened between the Harry and Ginny; Harry was never one to talk in depth about his relationships. But had deduced that it had something to do with the fact that Harry, along with her and Ron, was taking off on his hunt for Voldemort's horcruxes after a few more days of Mrs. Weasley's cooking. She had the distinct impression that he was keen to avoid her today.

"Wha-?" said Harry, whipping around and looking slightly guilty. "Oh, no, actually I wasn't," and he dropped his voice, "I was just wondering how safe we all are here. I mean, this is all just out in the open, I wonder if any wards have been put up?"

"Harry, there about twenty Aurors here today," she said with some surprise. "This is probably the one of the safest places in the wizarding world at the moment. Surely you can't think there could be a Death Eater attack?"

Harry nodded vaguely, but still looked slightly disconcerted. "Yeah ... I guess it's just that the wizarding world seems so much less safe than it used to be when Dumbledore was around."

Hermione reached out to grasp his elbow. "I know, Harry. I'm afraid that we're in much graver danger than we ever have been before. Especially you. But do try to relax today, won't you? This may be our last chance for a long time."

"She's right, you know," she heard Ron say as he sat down heavily on her other side, followed by Ginny and the rest of the Weasley clan. He gave a long-suffering sigh. "Mum's in a right state. Can't be shut of yelling, even on her oldest son's wedding day."

"Ron, be fair," said Hermione, frowning at him, "you lot were making the cake knife zoom towards people's heads!"

"Yeah," muttered Harry. "_Our_ heads."

"That's not on!" chimed in Fred. "We've been in helping her get this wedding put together since dawn yesterday, a little magic never does anybody any harm."

"Tell that to Frankie Frankpie," said George, grinning. "Poor bloke never saw that everlasting earwax hex coming ..." He shook his head with false remorse.

"What'd you--" started Ginny, laughing and leaning across the table to poke George in the ribs.

But what exactly happened to Frankie Frankpie's earwax Hermione never found out, because at the exact moment Fleur, who had been toasting the crowded tables with a rather long-winded speech, gave her wand a complicated little wave so that plates with slices of cake on them appeared out of nowhere before the guests and champagne glasses filled suddenly with golden, bubbly liquid.

"Excellent!" breathed Ron, looking with a solemn sort of reverence at his cake. "Just like at Hogwarts!"

"I've _got_ to learn that one," said Hermione. And with that, she took a fast swig of champagne, scooped a rather large bite of cake into her mouth, and began to wind her way through the tables towards Bill and Fleur as chatter and the clatter of forks on china rose around her and filled the garden with the unmistakable sounds of a party in full swing.

She could feel Ron's eyes follow her glumly to Fleur's table and suppressed a grin. He'd been touchy all summer when it came to Fleur. Passing Bill, who was in conversation with a cheerful Mr. Weasley beside him, Hermione swooped down upon Fleur.

"Ah, 'Ermione!" said Fleur in a carrying voice, seeing Hermione approach. "Bill and I are so happy. When are you 'inking of marrying? Eet is so wonderful!" She reached up absentmindedly to pat Bill's cheek, one of the many features still scarred from his encounter with Fenrir Greyback some several weeks prior.

As her mind immediately flitted to Ron, Hermione stopped herself from giving Fleur a scathing reply with the greatest of difficulty.

"Actually, Fleur, I was just wondering--" began Hermione in what she hoped was a dignified voice. But she interrupted again by a knowing smile from Fleur.

"You, too, vill geet zair eventually, 'Ermione," she said loftily and Hermione couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. She had the distinct impression that Ginny, Fred and George were laughing uproariously at her from several tables over; she could see them doubled over. Harry, too, appeared to be stifling a muffled sort of noise behind a hand clamped over his mouth, but Ron merely had a curious sort of shadow over his features.

"You see," continued Fleur, now pulling Hermione down into the seat beside her and snaking an arm around her waist with the manner of someone about to impart a tidbit of deepest, most personal wisdom, "You 'ave to find someone zat vill put your needs in front of 'is own, someone whiz foresight!" Fleur gave a fluttery laugh and Hermione, perched stiffly at the edge of her chair, cast Ron's table a glowering look.

"Ah! Like zis!" exclaimed Fleur, and she pulled a tiny, shabby-looking yet neatly wrapped package from the center of the table that Hermione could not be sure had been meant for her. "You see, 'ee gives me little gifts all zee time!"

Untying the string and pulling back the faded brown paper, Fleur uncovered something small and round hanging on a long gold chain. It had curious dials around its edges and a tiny hourglass encased at its center.

Hermione gave a small gasp.

"But what eez eet?" said Fleur quietly, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. "What could eet be?" She held it gingerly in her hand.

"That's ... that's not possible," whispered Hermione, her throat suddenly bone-dry and her mind racing. Fleur held in her palm a time-turner.

Surely the Ministry's entire stock of time-turners got smashed that day in the Department of Mysteries at the end of fifth year. Unless ...

"Did the package have a name? A card?" she asked Fleur, her voice urgent, fearing the worst. Maybe Harry was right; could the Death Eaters have planted something dangerous at the wedding?

"No, of course not, silly girl. Eet eez from Bill!"

"How can you be sure?" demanded Hermione. "There's no note." And she pulled the packaging towards her and flattened it against the table. There, on the inside of the wrapping, was slanted writing that Hermione thought looked familiar but could not place.

It said: "_To the Chosen One_."

Breathe. Breathe.

Fleur looked at Hermione, eyes wider than ever, recognition popping in her face.

"That's ... that's Dumbledore's writing, Hermione," came a choked sort of whisper in her ear and she felt rather than saw that Harry was leaning over her shoulder, looking intently at the wrapping she held in her hand. His hand closed over hers and he tugged the paper from her grasp. He had an odd, unsettled look on his face. "That's definitely Dumbledore's writing. Is ... is that a time-turner, Fleur?"

"Yes," whispered Hermione with an impatient wave of her hand, and she turned to face him, her nose inches from his. "But Harry, think about this. Dumbledore's dead, he couldn't possibly have--"

It's _his_ handwriting, Hermione, I'm sure of it," he said shortly, his voice rising dangerously above a whisper and reaching out for the time-turner. Hermione stopped his hand. "I know he's dead, I know it doesn't seem possible, but it can't be from anyone else. It's his handwriting. Question is: how did this get here, to the Weasley's?"

"'To the Chosen One,'" came a third voice somewhere to her left that Hermione recognized at once as Ron's. He leaned forward to look at the slanted writing. "Blimey, Harry, you don't suppose that means--"

"Me," came Harry's wry reply.

Ron shrugged and Hermione bit her lip, nodding. "It has to be, it couldn't possibly mean anyone else."

"Whoa," breathed Ron, a reverent-looking shadow troubling his usually clear eyes.

"Why would Dumbledore give me a time-turner?" asked Harry.

"Harry--" began Hermione.

"Just entertain the idea for a second, will you?" demanded Harry.

Hermione threw him a contemptuous sort of look she usually reserved for Ron, but answered, "Oh, honestly! But alright. If it is from Dumbledore, you might need it for one of the horcruxes or something. You do keep saying that you didn't think Dumbledore intended you to finish this without some more of this help. I suppose he could have left it to you, knowing that you'd need it to finish off Voldemort. Maybe one of the Horcruxes involves going back in time?"

She paused, then leveled a grave sort of look at both Ron and Harry. "But honestly, I think you should show it to Lupin or Mad Eye. It might not be from Dumbledore at all. We need to make sure it's not a trap, that it doesn't have any Dark or dangerous spells or enchantments on it. I mean, what if it came from a Death Eater?"

"But it's _Dumbledore's_ writing."

"Yes, so you've mentioned, Harry, but this is your _life_ we're talking about. And not ten minutes ago you yourself were worried about Death Eaters!"

"But Hermione," said Ron, turning to her, "if it's Dumbledore's writing, then it was Dumbledore who gave it, so there won't be any curses put on it. Just let Harry have it. It'll probably be really useful!"

She sensed that Harry privately agreed with Ron, so interjected briskly, "Of course it could be, and I don't want it getting out that Dumbledore's sent Harry a time-turner from the dead any more than Harry does. That's risky enough as it is, but we simply must check for curses and enchantments. Don't be so difficult, Ron."

"I'm not the one being difficult!" snapped Ron. "You're the one complicating things, dragging extra people into it!"

"Are you saying you don't trust Lupin?" demanded Hermione, her temper flaring to match Ron's.

"No, I ..." And then he turned abruptly to Harry. "What do you think, Harry?"

Hermione could tell from one glance at Harry that he didn't want to get dragged into yet another argument between her and Ron, and she let out a tiny sigh.

Harry seemed to regard Ron for a moment, then finally said, "Hermione's right, it needs to be checked for curses. But," he hesitated, then rounded on her, "I want_ you _to check it, I don't want any more people dragged in than is strictly necessary. Fleur, and from the looks of it, Bill, is more than enough."

Hermione, feeling a powerful rush of what --pride?-- at Harry's confidence in her curse detecting skills, fought down a blush. "What, me? Don't be ridiculous, you both know perfectly well that I can only check for the more basic curses, not something really bad like _armenzentia_ or ..."

But, upon catching a glimpse of Harry's face, quickly said, "Oh _alright_, I suppose I could manage a few tests ... C'mon, let's take it somewhere more out of the way."

Fleur, who had remained silent throughout this entire exchange, let the time-turner slip from her palm into Hermione's without a word, and Hermione led them through the patchwork of tables to the edge of the garden and away from the crowd, twilight starting to fall around them. A sparkler followed them, drawing a cascade of red hearts over their heads.

Glancing up at Ron and Harry, both of whom seemed to be holding their breath, she held the time-turner aloft in front of her. Clutching her wand and training her eyes on the time-turner, she whispered, "_Revelio incantatum time-turner_ ..."

And with this, Hermione felt an odd tingling sensation start in the hand where the time-turner rested and then rise up her arm and throughout her entire body. She felt as if she was dissolving out of the air itself. She caught one last glimpse of Ron standing horrorstruck in front of her and Harry's astonished green eyes, his hands outstretched as if to catch her ... And then nothing ... only the plummeting feeling that something had gone terribly wrong ...

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End.

Thanks for reading! Please leave a review, critical or kind; they're immensely helpful!

Note: I know this is a bit long for a prologue, but bear with me; the pace will pick up starting next chapter.


	2. Fast Foward

**The Time Traveler's Dilemma  
Chapter Two: Fast Forward**

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"Ow," whispered Hermione, her eyes fluttering open and taking in the high vaulted ceiling and walls hung with blue and gold tapestries of an unfamiliar room. She seemed to be lying on her back, but could not recall exactly how she had gotten there. She brought her hand to the back of her head; it was throbbing. 

Candles stood in brackets all along the walls of the room, casting a pleasant glow on her surroundings, which consisted of chintz armchairs interspersed with shelves stacked high with books, a simple fireplace set into the wall at the far end of the room, and several straight-backed wooden chairs at what looked to be study tables. On each table there sat additional candles, all of them burning low. It appeared to be nighttime.

_Where am I?_ This can't be the Burrow...

Hermione winced as her temple gave another almighty throb. She could feel a lump forming on the back of her head. She must have fallen ... How long was she knocked out?

Slowly, she raised herself into a sitting position, trying again to remember how she got here, and suddenly remembered the time-turner.

Her hands, now empty of any sign of the time-turner, scrambled at the stone floor beneath her, her pockets, the sleeves of her robes-her normal black robes, not the dress robes she wore to Bill and Fleur's wedding-and she gasped.

Oh no, no, no ...! She'd only had the time-turner for what, five minutes? And she'd already lost it. What was Harry going to say? If it was in fact his last gift from Dumbledore, one that was bound to be truly useful, was gone, then it was all her fault ... And if was from a Death Eater, here she'd gone and landed herself in trouble ...

"About time you showed up!" came a voice from behind her, and she turned to find Harry and Ron jogging over to her. They, too, were no longer in their dress robes.

"Harry!" she said desperately, jumping to her feet, her hair flying in her face. "Oh, Harry, I don't know how it happened! One moment we were ... we were at the Burrow with the time-turner, and I was checking it for curses and ... There's something _dodgy_ about that thing!"

She paused for a breath, glancing from Harry's face to Ron's. "How did we get here anyway?"

_Wherever "here" is_, she thought.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, comprehension seeming to dawn on their faces. "I don't think she knows yet, mate," said Ron slowly, looking remorsefully at Harry.

Harry's eyes widened slightly, and he nodded, taking a tentative step towards her, a concerned look on his face. "I think you're right, Ron. It's probably her first time."

Her first time? Her first time doing what? _What_ didn't she know? Why were they being vague now, at time like this? She nearly stamped her foot in impatience.

"Hermione," he continued, looking at her intently, "I can't explain fully now. Strictly speaking, we're not supposed to be in here. C'mon, we mustn't be heard."

And he drew his wand out of his pocket and proceeded to walk the length of the rectangular room, keeping close to the tapestry-lined walls.

"Harry," began Hermione, "what on earth-?" but he held up his hand to gently silence her. He seemed to be listening intently for something. She looked over at Ron, who was looking uncharacteristically solemn and watching Harry as though his behavior was quite soundly within the realm of normalcy.

Just then, Harry stopped abruptly and reached out to a richly colored tapestry depicting a particularly large and smug-looking beaver seated on plush pillows. It appeared to be snoring.

Drawing the tapestry away from the wall, he muttered, "I think ... Yes, this must be it ..." and motioned for Ron and Hermione to follow him. They hastened to do so, and Hermione's mind worked furiously to understand the meaning of all of this. It was as if Harry and Ron were in on a secret she knew nothing about ...

But Hermione felt one thing for certain. Wherever they were and whatever they were doing, there was only one thing Harry and Ron would be this solemn and secretive about: this had to be something to do with a Horcrux. At this thought, a chill went down her spine.

When she and Ron arrived at Harry's side, Hermione let out as small gasp.

There, behind the tapestry and inlaid into the sandy stone of the wall, was a faint outline of what was unmistakably a hidden portal. All three of them pushed experimentally on it; it wouldn't budge, but remained as solid and unmoving as the wall on either side of it.

Hermione drew her wand, ready to try _alohomora _or _dissendium_ charms to open the doorway, but Harry stopped her. "No spell will work on this. Voldemort doesn't work like that. We have to give the doorway something. It was the same with ... with Dumbledore when we retrieved the ring."

Voldemort? Give the doorway something?

"That time it was a blood offering. This time, it's something else, something more ..." Harry trailed off, looking uneasy. "Ron, do you have it?" He gave Hermione an oddly fleeting look as he said it, but before she could press him, he had outstretched his hand towards Ron, who was fishing a tiny vile out of the inside of his robes. Through the clear glass, Hermione could make out a bundle of fine gossamer strands that glowed an incandescent blue. The vile clearly contained a memory.

With an unbidden sense of foreboding she could not suppress, she wondered whose memory was stopped inside the vile ... not to mention what sort of memory was needed to open the door to where one of Voldemort's horcruxes was hidden.

Ron handed the vile to Harry, who uncorked it and, and with a look of distain, used the tip of his wand to prod the memory out of its glass container and apply it to the stone portal outlined in the wall in front of them. He kept the memory applied to the stone for several seconds, then withdrew his wand and lowered the fine strands back into the vile. Hermione noticed they were a more startling shade of blue now, and wondered fleetingly if the wall had wrought a change in them ... She caught Harry's eye and could tell he was thinking the same thing.

All three of them stared intently at the stone in front of them.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, quite suddenly, the outlined section of the wall slid inward several inches, then moved sideways, revealing a shadowy passageway, its walls lined with candles in brackets just like those in the room they left, only these were unlit and smoking slightly, as if they had just been blown out.

"Wow," breathed Ron.

"Quick, in here." said Harry in a harsh sort of whisper, and she and Ron hurried into the darkness of the passageway, the tapestry falling back into place behind them, hiding them from view.

"Harry, Ron" she began, drawing herself up to her fully height and lighting her wand tip. Beside her, Harry and Ron did likewise. "Are you going to tell me exactly what we're doing here or am I going to have to--"

"Yes," said Harry earnestly, "calm down, I am going to tell you everything. We'll be safe in here for now. I don't think we'll run into trouble until we've reached our destination, I just didn't want anyone to discover that we were sneaking around the Hufflepuff Common Room."

"We're in the Hufflepuff Common Room?" said Hermione, flabbergasted. None of this made any sense, we were all at the Burrow not twenty minutes ago .

"Well technically," chimed in Ron, "we're in the secret passageway off of the Hufflepuff Common Room that probably no one else knows about except You-Know-Who. Doubt even Dumbledore knew. I mean blimey, it's not even on the Marauder's Map."

So it _was_ a Horcrux they were after ...

"Ron," said Harry. "That's not helping, we need to start at the beginning."

"That would be advisable," said Hermione through gritted teeth as Ron shrugged in agreement.

"Hermione, do you remember Bill and Fleur's wedding? You and Fleur found a time-turner meant for me? I thought it was from Dumbledore "

"Was it?" interjected Hermione quickly.

"We don't know," said Ron, who was looking increasingly uneasy. "We don't know who it came from, all we know is that it ... well, something happened to you when you tried a spell on it."

_Well obviously_, thought Hermione, but she remained silent, pins and needles seeming to fill her stomach.

"Hermione," said Harry, "tell me. You _do_ remember being at the Burrow, don't you?"

"Do I remember? Of course I remember!" she snapped, starting to feel truly desperate now. "How could I not remember? We were there this very afternoon!" Dimly, in the glow of their three wand tips, Hermione could see a stricken look cross each of their faces and her sudden anger faltered. She had to remind herself to breathe.

"Hermione, Bill and Fleur's wedding was months and months ago. When you tried to reveal any curses on the time-turner, something ... something went wrong, the time-turner broke. It literally shattered all over the place. No one can really figure out how it happened. Lupin, Mad-Eye, no one ... We think there must have been some sort of curse on it, but it definitely didn't work properly; it just shattered the time-turner."

Harry looked at her through the glow of his wand, his green eyes unusually bright. "It's January now, six months after Bill and Fleur's wedding. You've been time-traveling all this time, yo-yoing back and forth to different times and places. You've been sort of stuck ... you know, stuck out of time."

Hermione, wide-eyed and taking shallow gulps of breath, started to feel faint. She felt as if the floor might be disappearing underneath her feet.

_ This can't be happening this can't be happening oh my god oh my god oh my god ..._

Her mouth worked, but no words came out. Finding her knees terribly unstable, she settled for merely sinking to the ground, Harry's hand familiarly on her shoulder blade as if afraid she'd tip backwards. Ron hovered uncertainly above her, for some reason looking a touch sullen, but she didn't pause to think on it.

So that's what had happened! That's why she didn't know where she was when she awoke or how she got here, why she felt like Harry and Ron were in on a secret she was not privileged to hear, why they were all on the way to find a Horcrux when she had been no part of the process of discovering it, why she woke up wearing different robes and no longer had the time-turner around her neck ... _she had time-traveled._

And not only that.

She had time-traveled to the future, something she had never heard of before. Time-turners were only meant to send a witch or wizard back in time, never forward.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," said Harry, breaking the silence. Ron nodded next to him, a deeply sympathetic look on his face, and reached out to pat her arm awkwardly.

With this, she seemed to come out of her trance. "So," she said slowly, "I shattered the time-turner and arrived in my future ... your present, obviously." Harry and Ron nodded solemnly and she paused, thinking. "Are you sure I just haven't had a bad case of amnesia all these months?"

Harry gave her one of his rueful little smiles she'd come to know so well. "That might have been better, but no. You've definitely been time traveling."

She took a steadying breath, and Ron said, "It's been pretty crazy for you, actually."

"Yes, I'm starting to realize that ... " She gave Ron a shaky smile which quickly faltered. "And you said this isn't the only time that I've time-traveled?"

"No," said Harry, now rubbing her shoulder and kneeling before her to look at her face properly. He seemed physically closer to her than he'd ever been before, and wondered vaguely what had happened between them in the past six months. Had they become closer friends?

Harry continued. "You ... well, you tend to be mostly in the present, your present, but you've traveled to the future and the past a fair few times. It ... it seems that you can't really control it; it just sort of ... happens."

"It's been dead useful, though, to tell you the truth," said Ron bracingly, and Hermione shot him an incredulous look and Harry made sush-ing noises.

"Well, it has been!" he pressed on, now indignant. "How else would we have known that Hufflepuff's cup was hidden at Hogwarts if Hermione couldn't come back from the future to tell us? How else would we know that we would need a memory of You-Know-Who's to get into the passageway in the first place? How else would we know that Sna--"

"Shhh!" said Harry quite suddenly, and the three of them strained their ears. Hermione thought she could hear a soft shuffling coming from the Common Room. "Come on, we can't linger here any more. We've got to get a move on. This way..."

Eager to remain undetected and yet desperate to understand more about her time-traveling and everything that had happened between last summer at the wedding and this point in time some half a year later, Hermione crept quietly after Harry and Ron, her wand held aloft to illuminate the long, drafty passageway ahead of them.

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Thanks for reading. And leave a review, you naughty monkeys! 


	3. Memories Revealed

**The Time Traveler's Dilemma  
Chapter Three: Memories Revealed**

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The passageway loomed darkly ahead of them, the lightless candle brackets along the walls still smoking eerily as if they had just been snuffed out.

Harry, Ron and Hermione, their illuminated wands held aloft, crept steadily forward, nervous about what they might find.

"Harry," whispered Hermione, quickening her pace so that she was level with him, "what exactly are we likely to find down here?"

Harry glanced sideways at her. "Hopefully, one of Voldemort's horcruxes," he said matter-of-factly. "Though the other person who knows exactly what will happen when we reach the horcrux-besides Voldemort himself, that is-is you." He paused, giving her a slight smile. "You've already lived this when I come from, remember?"

"Well what did I say?"

"You gave a few details," piped in Ron from behind them. "Especially about the use of this memory. It'll become clear once we get there, I expect."

Her mind reeling from the complications of her time traveling, Hermione nodded silently. She took Ron to mean that in their past, she had already experienced this night, this attempt to get the Horcrux, and therefore her past self had already told them exactly what they needed to do to destroy it successfully.

The three of them continued to make their way slowly down the passageway, following it as it curved seamlessly to the left, where it opened up into a high-ceilinged room whose shadows their wandlight couldn't quite penetrate.

Shining his light around the walls, Harry's wand revealed more candles in brackets, which immediately lit themselves as his wand passed over them with a slight rushing sound. Soon, the room was filled with a soft glow, the rushing sound stopped, and it was revealed that they stood at the entrance of a circular room not dissimilar to the dimensions of the Headmaster's office several floors above them.

The contents of the room, however, could not have been more different than Dumbledore's old office, noted Hermione, from the small handful of times she had visited it in her years at Hogwarts. There was an odd sort of coldness imposed on the chamber despite the rosy color of the stone walls and the glow from the candles.

It was also almost completely bare of furniture; at the center of the chamber stood a marvelous-looking wooden desk and straight-backed chair. On the dark wooden surface of the desk stood a Pensieve, the rune-engraved stone basin used to collect a person's memories.

This Pensieve, however, was small, much smaller than Dumbledore's had been, and appeared to be quite empty. There were no swirling strands of memory floating in its basin, no blue light emanated from its depths; it simply sat upon the desk's surface, horribly foreboding in its emptiness. Hermione couldn't help but feel a great sense of dread as she looked at the Pensieve; what were they to do with it, exactly?

The three of them stood motionless on the threshold, as silent as the room.

"C'mon," said Harry after several moments' hesitation. He motioned for Ron and Hermione to follow him to the center of the room, and they did. Hermione noticed that Ron did so especially reluctantly, and Hermione was afraid to ask what she had told them in the past that could bring out the cold sweat that had broken out on his face.

"Alright," said Harry, taking a deep breath. "Hermione, you had--in the past--said that we needed to use the memory to reveal the position of the Horcrux ..."

He plunged a hand into his robes and withdrew the vile containing the memory. It glowed a bright, incandescent blue, even brighter than when Harry had applied it to the portal to gain access to the passageway.

Harry continued, "And that once we view the memory, we could find the Horcrux, capture it, and destroy it." He paused, gulped. "Destroy it ... after a fashion..."

"After a fashion ...?" Hermione asked faintly, watching his face intently in the blue light of the memory.

His eyes focused on hers, but remained inscrutable.

Ron cleared his throat nervously beside her. "Let's do it," he said, his voice strangely high-pitched.

Harry's intense gaze faltered, and he looked away from her. Pursing his lips, he uncorked the vile, and poured the memory into the waiting Pensieve.

Immediately upon touching the Pensieve's surface, the memory shot suddenly and forcefully out of it, seeming to explode into the air around them, which became dense and heavy with the weight of it. Soon, the circular room was filled with magically expanded gossamer strands, and the air itself began to hum louder and louder until it seemed to vibrate veritably around them.

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, and her gaze quickly sought out Ron and Harry. Ron's eyes were tightly shut, his mouth screwed up as if in tense concentration. Harry's eyes were darting around the room, taking in the expanding ribbons of blue light; he was standing on the balls of his feet, ready for anything.

Then, quite as suddenly as it started, the blue strands melted back into the air, and the space in the room seemed to disappear. The walls and candle brackets remained in place, but the space itself filled with the contents of a wholly different place. Or rather, the exact same place but with deliberate alterations.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves standing in the exact same room, but this time it was filled with more furniture than the desk and chair. Ceiling high bookcases lined with enormous texts lined the walls, cushy armchairs stood in front of the desk, and a whole host of ancient-looking objects cluttered various shelves and the surfaces of spindly tables. The place looked like an office, and a very old one, at that.

_Helga Hufflepuff's office...?_, thought Hermione.

She looked around, then let out a stifled scream as Harry's hand clamped over her mouth. They were no longer alone. There, beside one of the bookshelves, loomed the outlines of two figures Hermione loathed and mistrusted above anybody else: Voldemort and Severus Snape himself were in deep conference not seven feet from them.

Harry removed his hand from her mouth, and she gulped, her gaze riveted on Voldemort. Beside her, Ron gave a whimper, "_Blimey .._."

"Never mind," Harry whispered, "it's a memory, they can't hear or see us anyway." He had a look of barely suppressed rage on his face.

"A memory?" questioned Hermione. But as soon as she asked, she understood. They must be inside the memory that shot out of the vile and filled the room, and therefore were utterly invisible to the two figures in front of them.

"Yes," said Harry. "We needed a memory of Voldemort's to gain entrance to the passageway, and now to find the Horcrux."

"That's ... ingenious," said Hermione in a grudgingly impressed tone.

"Exactly. That way he could control exactly who can and can't enter the place where his Horcrux is hidden. Or find it once they get here."

Hermione nodded, another burning question popping into her head. "But, Harry! How exactly did you come by a memory of Voldemort's? That seems downright impossible!"

"It would have been," said Ron in an eager tone. "But that's why it was so helpful when we got that Patronus from Sn--"

"Let's talk about that later," said Harry impatiently, who had taken several steps towards the two figures they shared the room with, his footsteps echoing off the stone floor. "We've got to hear the contents of this memory. It will be vital if we are to use the memory to find the horcrux."

And with this, the three of them turned eagerly to survey Voldemort and Snape, who stood several feet apart, their heads inclined towards each other.

Both were dressed in billowing black robes; Voldemort's seemed to float around him, as if the fabric was afraid of coming into direct contact with his skin.

Snape looked the same as ever, his lank, greasy hair curtaining his sallow features and hooked nose. Seeing a dry smile tugging at his pursed lips, Hermione felt a surge of anger mixed with fear rise in her chest as she took in the sight of the two men standing in front of her.

Peering more closely at her former Potions professor's features, however, Hermione thought he seemed much younger than when he had taught at Hogwarts, and she wondered if this memory took place much earlier, before Voldemort had lost his powers.

Before she could process this thought, however, Voldemort had opened his mouth to speak.

"Thank you for meeting me here, Severus," he said, his voice high and cold, and he gestured carelessly around the room with a long-fingered hand. "You have not disappointed me."

"It is my pleasure, my Lord," replied Snape with a slight bow of his greasy head. "As you now, I have just secured a teaching post here at Hogwarts; the journey to this room could not have been easier, once you gave your directions. I couldn't help but notice that the room is well hidden."

Voldemort surveyed Snape with slightly narrowed eyes, a move that did nothing to improve his appearance. "Indeed," he said softly. Then he continued: "I have called you here for a single reason, Severus. As you know --and it _is _you, Severus, out of all my followers, who knows this best-- I have journeyed farther than any other wizard along the path of immortality..."

Veldemort's cold voice trailed off delicately and he paused as if waiting for Snape to congratulate him on this point.

When he did not, Voldemort resumed his speech, his voice neither loud nor soft, but perfectly controlled. "The magical powers and methods I use to craft this immorality I shall not reveal to you, but as you were the one who came to me so swiftly yesterday evening after learning about the prophecy involving the Potters,"--beside her, Hermione could hear Harry suck in breath, and was surprised when his hand sought out hers, gripping it tight-- "I have chosen you to perform a specific task for me before I strike at Godric's Hollow."

Harry's fingers were stone cold against Hermione's, and she could feel him shaking with suppressed rage.

"A task, my Lord?" said Snape, his voice carefully inflected to omit curiosity, though Hermione noticed that his dark eyes gleamed a shade brighter.

"A task, yes," came the cold reply. "A task that involves my immortality. You realize, Severus, that this is a burden that will fall heavily on your shoulders, and that you will speak of it to no one." It was not a request.

"Of course not, my Lord," he said, and inclined his head again, his eyes never leaving his master's face.

"Why that slimy _git_," Hermione heard Ron seethe beside her.

Despite her loathing for the former professor standing before her, Hermione could not help but feel a powerful sense of dread start to form at the pit of her stomach. A smile had appeared on Voldemort's face, a wild, insane sort of smile that made him look less human. Never in Harry's descriptions of him had Hermione imagined something so horrible as the creature before her now who fashioned himself the Dark Lord.

Voldemort did not reply to Snape. Instead, he plunged his hand inside his eerily billiowing cloak and pulled out an ornately engraved silver goblet. He held it aloft in front of Snape, his long white fingers wrapped around one of its handles. It gleamed brightly in the candlelight.

Harry leaned towards Hermione, his hand finally slipping out of hers; his mouth was very close to her ear. "_Hufflepuff's cup_!" he whispered in exclamation. "I saw it in Dumbledore's Pensieve! That's the Horcrux!"

Hermione gave a small gasp of understanding and exchanged looks with an equally astonished Ron. "Oh yes, of course..."

Meanwhile, Voldemort had enchanted the goblet to float in mid-air before him, and was now looking at Snape, his red eyes alight with concentration.

"My Lord," began Snape, this time with a hint of nervousness, "what am I to--"

But Voldemort cut him off. "You are to do nothing, but feel this ..."

And, quite suddenly, Voldemort had yelled "_Crucio_!" and Snape was on the ground convulsing in pain, a horrible scream erupting from his this lips, his black eyes leaking tears.

Voldemort was again performing magic: the cup was spinning in front of him and began to shake and buck in the air. Soon, Snape's body began to quiet and his screams became fainter, as if it was no longer issuing from his lips.

And then it hit her: the scream was no longer issuing from Snape's lips. Rather, it was now issuing from the spinning cup, as if it had drank in all of his pain and now contained it.

Slowly but surely, Snape stopped moving or making any sort of sound at all and lay quite motionless on the ground.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood riveted to the spot, horrified.

A high-pitched laughter filled Hermione's ears as Voldemort began to laugh, and suddenly the contents of the room began to disappear, the two figures in front of them dissolving before their very eyes. Moments later, they found themselves back in the bare room with the single desk, the single chair, and this time, a silver goblet resting in the very spot the Pensieve occupied before they entered the memory.

The Horcrux had replaced the Pensieve.

Breathing heavily, Hermione looked around at Harry and Ron.

"What-- what was that?" said Ron, his voice unsteady.

But Hermione wasn't listening. She rounded on Harry, whose face looked ashen and rigid. "Harry-" she began, and reached out a steadying hand to him, not quite touching him. "Are you alright ...?"

His eyes seemed to have difficulty finding hers, as if he was still replaying the scene they had just witnessed all over again.

Finally, he found his voice, "I knew," he said, his voice positively bubbling with rage, his eyes jockeying between herself and Ron. "I _knew_ it but I didn't... I _knew_ it was Snape. I knew it was him who told Voldemort about the prophecy. Trelawney told me at the end of last year ... I knew." And then, as if he couldn't contain himself any longer, burst out, "I knew but I_ still_ hate him! I _hate_ him!"

"Oh I know, Harry, I know ..." said Hermione, striken. "You're absolutely right. It's one thing to hear it. It's quite another to see it in front of you." She gulped. "To see it in real life."

Hermione caught Ron's eye, and he squirmed uncomfortably, his face quite pale.

"It's fine," came Harry's voice, now more controlled. "It's fine." He seemed to be steeling himself for something. "It's over now. But we have to take care of the horcrux. We can't stop now."

"No, we can't," agreed Hermione. "Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted it. He'd have wanted us to keep going."

"It's for the best, mate," said Ron.

Harry gave a sharp nod; and Hermione was relieved that he seemed at last to be firmly in the present, no longer replaying the scene in his mind. His face looked set as he took a step towards the desk.

The cup stood innocently at the center of it, the ornate carvings of runes ornamenting the outside.

"How ... How do we destroy it?" she asked hesitantly.

"First we have to remove it; we can destroy it later," answered Harry, his eyes still riveted on the cup.

Nodding, Hermione drew her wand, ready to perform a series of charms to remove the cup without touching it. She muttered a series of spells over the horcrux, then frowned. Nothing had happened.

Harry reached out and stopped her hand. "That won't work. It's just like the portal: magic won't be able to touch the cup now." He looked fleetingly at Hermione. "You said as much ... you know, in the past. We'll have to remove it by hand."

"Harry, no!" shot Hermione, and caught the back of his robes to stop his movement forward. "There_ has_ to be another way! You saw what Voldemort did to that cup! You saw what he put into it. It contains Snape's pain. Don't touch it, it could be dangerous."

"Of _course_ it's dangerous, Hermione. Voldemort designed it that way on purpose."

"Hermione," said Ron as she opened her mouth to retort, "Harry's right. It's the only way. You-Know-Who wanted to make it as painful as possible to remove his horcrux."

"Alright, fine!" Hermione relented, still distressed. "But _I'll_ do it. _I'll_ remove the cup."

"No, you won't," hissed Harry, rounding on her. "If anyone's touching that cup, it'll be me, not either of you two."

"You don't have to do everything alone, Harry!" said Hermione desperately, tears springing into her eyes. "You don't have to be noble one hundred percent of the time. You can let others help!"

"I'm _not_ doing anything alone! And I'm not being _noble_," came Harry's voice, angry. "Look at you two, you're here with me and I could have never gotten here without your help. But there are some things I'm meant to do by myself." He glanced at Ron, "Ron, you know what to do from here."

And quick as lightening, before Hermione could stop his hand, Harry had reached out to grasp the goblet, one hand on each of the silver handles.

Immediately he began to convulse just as Snape had in the memory, and Harry's piercing yells of pain mixed with echoes of Snape's yells, whihc were erupting out of the cup. Soon he was on the ground, his green eyes shut tight, tears running down his pale cheeks.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, rushing towards him, but Ron caught her around the middle with both hands, bodily stopping her. "Ron, let go!"

"This is what _has_ to happen, Hermione!" said Ron into her ear. "There's no other way!"

Hermione struggled against Ron's grasp, and he pulled her more tightly against his body. "Ron, let me go! Let me go to him!" She stamped on Ron's foot and he cursed, but didn't let go of her.

"Harry, let go of the cup!" she yelled desperately, tears starting to leak down her own cheeks as Harry continued to convulse in pain in front of her, his yells still mixing with the echoes of Snape's.

Hermione could feel herself begin to weaken against Ron's hold on her and fought all the harder, now pounding her fists ineffectually against his chest. She could no longer see through her tears.

Finally, she felt his grasp loosen and then Ron's arms disappeared altogether.

Suddenly, she found herself sprawled flat on her back. Her head was pounding, as if she had hit it against something very hard. "Harry," she yelled weakly, "Harry, drop the cup!"

"Hermione!" came a strong voice from somewhere above her that she recognized immediately as Harry's. "Hermione, are you alright?"

"Did she say 'drop the cup'?" came Ron's voice now. "What cup?"

Hermione blinked the tears out of her eyes confusedly and struggled into a sitting position, looking around.

She gasped.

She was no longer in the hidden chamber with the single desk and the horcrux; she was back at the Burrow, in the dress robes she had worn to Bill and Fleur's wedding, twilight settling around her. A sparkler burst in the air above her head, showering her with red sparks. The noise from the wedding reception filled her ears; she could hear billowing laughter, the clink of forks against china, and merry chatter from across the lawn.

Harry and Ron were kneeling beside her. Ron looked panicked and Harry's green eyes glowed bright with concern.

"Hermione," said Ron unsteadily, "what happened? You're-you're crying!"

"Yes ... I-I don't know what happened," she said, looking up. "Or rather, _how_ it happened." Looking down at her hands, she saw it: tiny pieces of glass and oddly bent bits of golden metal sat in her palm and glittered on the front of her robes. The remains of the time-turner.

"The time-turner," she said. "I'm_ back_."

* * *

Thanks for reading and an even _bigger _thanks for those kind souls who've left me reviews.

Tune in next chapter to find out:

How will Ron and Harry react to Hermione's time-traveling?  
How did Harry obtain the memory? Who helped him to get it?  
When and where will Hermione time-travel to next and what will she discover about Snape, and about herself?  
What's going on between Hermione and Harry? Hermione and Ron?


	4. Snakes and Tales

**The Time-Traveler's Dilemma  
Chapter Four: Snakes and Tales**

* * *

Hermione stared into the flames leaping behind the grate of the fireplace, her eyes glossy with introspection. 

She was curled into one of the wide, soft armchairs of the Burrow's living room, relishing being alone at last and trying in vain to empty her mind of the events of the day so she could invite sleep.

Harry and Ron had gone up to bed nearly an hour ago, but Hermione preferred to remain downstairs, afraid that if she went up to her room, Ginny would be awake and ready to ask her all sorts of questions. In a sudden flash, she thought how many times Harry must have felt like this, dreading the company of others.

Grimacing, she burrowed further down into her chair.

Outside, the moon hung like an orange in the sky and wisps of fog chased noise from the hollows of the Burrow. All was quiet, even the ghoul in the attic. On her lap, Crookshanks kneaded at her thigh contentedly, and she distractedly scratched behind his ear.

"Good Crookshanks," she purred absent-mindedly, her mind still exhaustedly mulling over her adventure with the time-turner.

Several hours had passed since she had returned from the future, from the passageway off of the Hufflepuff Common Room. She had immediately told Harry and Ron exactly what had happened, leaving no detail out. They had seized her by the elbows and almost dragged her to the corner of the deserted living room in which she still sat and hashed out the entire chain of events as the wedding reception progressed outside, as the house filled and emptied of guests saying goodbye, as dishes were washed and dried in the kitchen, as nighttime fell and waned into the early morning hours.

Footsteps brought her out of her reverie, and she looked up to find a pajama-clad Ron picking his way across the room, a steaming mug of tea in each hand, his feet shoved into slippers a little too small for his feet.

"You're still awake. Here, I thought you might need this ..." he said, his voice ringing with a sincere hesitancy, his lips upturned into more of a wince than a tentative smile. He extended a cup to her. His hand shook slightly.

Hermione looked sleepily at him and wordlessly reached out a hand for the mug, then scrunched herself into one corner of her armchair and patted the space next to her. Ron paused for a split second, then folded himself in beside to her.

He placed a shaky arm around her shoulders and she sank into it, beginning to sense that if they were to start something, like they always seem to be on the verge of, _this _was the moment, right now. There would not be another.

The thought sat heavily in her stomach, like there was large ball of clay in there rising and falling with her breathing.

He had been so sweet ever since she got back from the future, so sincere, so concerned about her well-being. As Harry watched amusedly from the armchair opposite them, Ron had positively fawned over her, fluffing the pillows on her chair, bringing her mug after mug of tea, even looking up the cure for headaches in Magical Maladies and Their Remedies.

_Honestly_, she'd thought, _he might as well have transfigured the tea cozy into a fan and started fanning me with it to stave off fainting fits..._

She wasn't used to this Ron, this boy who didn't bicker, who treated her like a ... like a girl who needed to be taken care of ...

Hermione gave a small sigh and was just on the point to sipping her tea when something silvery streaked through the living room window, swooped over their heads, and curved up the rickety staircase behind them and out of sight.

"What the _bloody hell_ was that?" said Ron quietly, getting to his feet and staring up the staircase as if the silvery something would reappear any moment.

"It ... It l_ooked_ like a Patronus ..." breathed Hermione, and Ron turned his gaze on her, flabbergasted.

"A Patronus? Here, at the Burrow? But what for?"

Hermione scratched her chin, thinking. "I wonder if ... I mean, it could be ... That is to say ..."

"Come on then. Spit it out."

She spared him an amused look; here, at last, was the Ron she knew. "Well, members of the Order use Patronuses to communicate with each other, don't they? I wonder if it wasn't just something bearing a message to Mr. Weasley. But ..." She hesitated.

"But what?"

"But it was in the form of a snake. Didn't it look like a snake to you?" She didn't wait for an answer, but gathered from Ron's unsettled expression that he grasped her meaning.

She continued: "I can't think of who in the Order could _possibly_ have a Patronus that would assume the form of a snake. Certainly not McGonnagal or Lupin. Or Mad-Eye. And not Tonks, I'd wager. Unless ... But it can't be--"

Just then they heard rushed footsteps clamoring down the stairs and the swiveled to find Harry vaulting down the last four stairs in one go. He landed hard on the rug with a loud _thwump_!

"Harry? What--"

"Hermione! Ron!" he hissed, his breaths coming rapidly, his eyes a stormy, molten green. "I just got a Patronus from-- Well here, read it."

And he thrust a crinkled piece of parchment into Hermione's hands and flung himself angrily into the armchair beside them. She and Ron bent their heads together to read the letter.

_Potter:  
_

_R.A.B. Regulus Arcturus Black.  
_

_And Potter, reprehensible though your reasoning skills tend to be, I trust you know to destroy this note immediately upon receiving it. _

_S.S._

Ron looked up, looking as if he had swallowed a cockroach cluster. "S.S.?" he asked, is mouth agape. "S.S.? Not _Severus Snape_? It can't be Snape."

"Oh yes it can," said Hermione, her eyes wide and riveted on the parchment.

She could think of nothing but what she had seen in the room with the horcrux. She racked her brain. Hadn't Ron almost said Snape's name? It had been on the tip of his tongue, she was sure if it. And had he not mentioned something about Harry receiving a Patronus... ?

"It _has_ to be Snape," Harry spat, breathing hard. He was on his feet again. "I'd know that murderous traitor's hand-writing anywhere. And--" He bent his head to scan the letter again. "'Reprehensible though your reasoning skills tend to be ...' _That_ sounds like him. That slimy, horrid, maggoty ..." His voice trailed indelicately away and he continued to mumble mutinously under his breath.

"Yes, it does ..." Hermione said vaguely, still looking at the letter, her finger resting under the letters R.A.B. She tapped the page. "'Regulus Arcturus Black ..." She looked up at Harry disbelievingly. "Harry, he's _helping_ you. Professor Snape is _actually_ helping you. He knows who R.A.B. is."

"How?" Harry shot back. "How did he know about R.A.B.? We haven't told a soul about that note or the locket."

"Maybe he's been spying on us?" suggested Ron.

"I don't see how he could be," began Hermione, setting her mug down on a table next to her and leaning forward. "But I suppose it's possible. But then why let us know? Why not try to remain hidden so he could continue to pass information to Voldemort, assuming he is? And don't forget: if Professor Snape knows about R.A.B., he might know about the rest of the horcruxes."

"_Not _'professor' anymore," said Harry, a menacing bite lacing his voice.

"And who says he's helping anyone?" shot Ron, an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face. "Maybe he's trying to throw us off. What's the idea of using Sirius' last name, anyway?"

"My thoughts exactly," said Harry. "Don't tell me you think that after all he's done--after _what_ he did to Dumbledore--that he would actually be helping the Order again."

"Not the Order, Harry," said Hermione simply. "He didn't send this to Kingsley or Mad-Eye or anyone else. He sent this to _you_." She poked a finger at Harry.

"But why? It's not like I'm going to start trusting him just because he sends me a note."

"We don't have to trust him," she said quickly, sitting up a little straighter. "We just have to figure out who Regulus Black is."

"And how're we going to do that?" questioned Ron. "Didn't you notice? Snape didn't even say. And I don't want to go traipsing off after information that Dumbledore's killer sent us. That's absolutely mental, Hermione."

Harry, too, was looking stubbornly at her.

"We don't have to _traipse_, Ron. I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere but Grimmauld Place." She looked back and forth between their blank faces.

"Oh honestly!" she continued. "The family tree, remember? It's a good think Mrs. Weasley couldn't get that Permanent Sticking charm off of it. We can check to see if there even IS a Regulus Black. That way, we can tell if Snape is trying to throw us off or not. And the best part is, Grimmauld Place is totally secure now that Harry's the Secret Keeper. Snape can't touch us there."

Harry looked at her, his eyes now alight, and snatched the piece of parchment from her hand, tossing it into the fire. He was trembling slightly.

"C'mon," he said abruptly, watching the edges of Snape's letter curl in the fire, the black spidery script disappearing rapidly into the flames. "Get your cloaks. Let's meet back down here in five minutes."

With a triumphant grin, Hermione turned and hurried up the stairs to grab her cloak and put on shoes. She was suddenly full of energy, the exhaustion and confusion of the day falling off of her with the excitement welling up in her chest. When she returned downstairs, both Harry and Ron were waiting by the front door, their cloaks fastened under their chins.

Silently, they stepped out the front door, turned on the spot, and Apparated to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Feeling the now familiar but still uncomfortable sensation of apparating melt off her, Hermione looked up to find the oak front door of the old Black home looming up out of the darkness. The windows were completely dark, the only light spilling weakly from a lantern hanging above the door. 

Harry and Ron stood on either side of her.

"I'll never get used to apparition," grumbled Ron.

"Hey, at least you still have both of your eyebrows ..." said Harry, glancing at him and grinning. "_Lumos_."

The three of them light their wands.

He tapped the door handle with his wand and it sung open immediately. They stepped quietly into the hall.

"No one here. Oh, remember the umbrella stand," whispered Harry, just as Hermione's leg brushed against it and it tottered. She righted it before it could fall and awake the screaming portrait of Mrs. Black.

Warm light appeared out of nowhere to her left, and Hermione looked up to find Harry lighting the lamps in brackets along the walls. They did not linger, but made their way quietly up the staircase and found the drawing room exactly where they had remembered it, and in about the same condition.

A thick layer of dust muffled their steps, and their wands sprayed cold white light onto the olive-green walls, long fragile-looking velvet curtains, and dark wooden furniture. It looked like a room that might wither if you breathed too loudly in it.

Harry lit the lanterns around the room with a muttered "_inflamare_" and the room looked slightly more cheerful.

"Here," said Ron, who had walked the length of the room and was standing in front of a huge, faded tapestry that took up the entire far wall. "Here it is!"

Harry and Hermione quickly followed, squeezing between moth-eaten chairs. In large words at the top of the tapestry, it read:

_THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK _

_"JOUJOURS PUR"  
_

"There's Regulus!" said Ron disbelievingly, jabbing a finger at a name towards the bottom of the tapestry. "He _is_ here. He exists!"

Hermione bent down to look more closely, and she mouthed the name. "He died over seventeen years ago..."

"Regulus Black ..." said Harry very close to her ear; he, too had kneeled down to inspect the tapestry. He hit his forehead with his palm. "Sirius talked about him!"

"What? Really?" asked Hermione, surprised.

"Sirius talked about him when we were here that summer before fifth year," he breathed, his words coming rapidly. "He died because ... because he had joined the Death Eaters."

"Blimey, you're kidding!" shot Ron. "Was he caught by Aurors?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I asked Sirius the same question. I remember now ... Sirius made it sound like he got in over his head with the Death Eater stuff and tried to back out. That's why he was killed. That's why he died. He tried to desert Voldemort."

"Whoa," muttered Ron, shaking his head.

"But Harry!" said Hermione excitedly. "Harry, that fits. Don't you see? Regulus wanted to desert the Death Eaters. What if he--"

"What if he did more than desert Voldemort ... What if he started to actively work against him." finished Harry, and Hermione nodded vigorously. Harry was looking intensely at her, his mouth a hard line. "Snape _was_ trying to help," he said shortly, as if he could not quite figure out why the words were coming out of his mouth. He made a face.

Hermione sat back on her heels.

"But let's not go-to use Ron's word--traipsing off to find out what other help he might be," said Harry. He cast them a significant look. "This might just be a ploy to get us in his confidence."

Beside her Ron was looking relieved, and Hermione put out a steadying hand to Harry, a smile on her face. "Don't worry. Snape is the absolute _last_ person in the world I want to--"  
I

n a flash, Hermione felt an odd tingling sensation in her hands and that rose quickly up her arms and throughout her entire body. She felt as if she were dissolving into the musty air around her. Catching one last glimpse of Harry and Ron kneeling on the carpet, their eyes wide open and astonished, Hermione immediately recognized the sensation as time-travel.

* * *

"Ow," muttered Hermione, opening her eyes with a wince and this time finding herself looking up into a sky that had very little daylight lingering in it. Long fingers of pink light shot into deepening blue-black. 

_Ugh, there's got to be a better way of doing this ... And just when we were learning something about R.A.B... ! _Her mood of excitement was quickly draining out of her.

Struggling into a sitting position, she brought her hand to massage the back of her head. It was throbbing painfully again, as if she had struck it hard against the ground beneath her.

Hermione stood up and looked around, revolving slowly on the spot. She did not recognize a single thing, but if she were to guess, she would guess she were somewhere in muggle London. It did not look wholly unlike Grimmauld Place.

Dingy brick buildings sprouted like weeds from the cobblestone street in which she stood, and the smell of burning coal and old cooking chased a tangy odor something like dirty river water in the short gusts of wind that swept along the sidewalk. A factory loomed into the sky a short way down the street and deposited copious amounts of black smoke into the air.

Hermione wrinkled her nose and looked down. She saw that she was wearing muggle clothes, but none she recognized from her current closet. The thin jacket and the fact that the breeze was not particularly cold told her that it was most likely in the summer months. What year, she had no idea.

"Harry...? Ron...?" she asked tentatively into the stillness surrounding her. Her voice got lost in the street. There was no answer. Not that she was expecting one.

With a shaky breath, she took a few steps in a vague direction, not at all sure where she was supposed to be going.

The only light came from the rapidly departing daylight and the yellow squares of windows which hung, here and there, in the buildings lining either side of the narrow street. It was a street full of shadows, a street where a scream wouldn't be heard.

Then, at the end of the block, she noticed a street sign planted next to an unassuming brick building. Quickening her pace, she hurried towards the sign.

_Maybe she could figure out where she was and ... and ... well, get the hell out of here, for starters._

Her footsteps echoing off the cobblestones and her breath coming quick, Hermione peered up at the sign, reading it, her lips forming the words "Spinner's End."

She frowned. Spinner's End. She'd never heard of Spinner's End.

Just then, a voice crawled out from the shadows to her left. "Miss Granger," it said softly. "I was not aware you were coming to call. And me, not even prepared with elf-made wine ..." It was a dangerous voice, a voice like a silk noose.

Hermione spun around, drawing her wand, and was just in time to see a figure step out of the shadows, a faint sneer marring his sharp features. She was face to face with Severus Snape.

* * *

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	5. Fates Revealed, Fates Concealed

_**The Time-Traveler's Dilemma**_

_**Chapter Five: Fates Revealed, Fates Concealed.**_

Three notes:

First: This is a rewrite of this chapter; the ending is quite different.

Second: A little more relationship "stuff" his this chapter. All Harry/Hermione, and soundly PG-13.

Third: A reminder that this story was started before _Deathly Hallows_ hit the bookshelves, so please consider this an alternate to book seven.

* * *

Hermione peered up at the sign, reading it, her lips forming the words "Spinner's End."

She frowned. Spinner's End. She'd never heard of Spinner's End.

Just then, a voice crawled out from the shadows to her left. "Miss Granger," it said softly. "I was not aware you were coming to call. And me, not even prepared with elf-made wine …" It was a dangerous voice, a voice like a silk noose.

Hermione spun around, drawing her wand, and was just in time to see a figure step out of the shadows, a faint sneer marring his sharp features. She was face to face with Severus Snape.

* * *

Oh, crap.

Hermione took several steps back, tripping over the uneven cobblestones and inhaling more of that smell like old cooking and dirty river water.

_Breathe. Breathe. Breathe._

"Prof—Professor Snape?" Hermione managed to say in a strangled sort of voice, gazing up at his face, which was, as always, peering out from between two curtains of black shoulder-length hair.

Snape surveyed her with dark, impatient eyes. His light sneer deepened to a mocking smile.

"No, not _professor_," he purred sardonically. "Or don't you remember your history? One tends to lose one's title if the job is also lost."

"But—But what are you doing here?"

"I think you'll find, Miss Granger, that it is I that should be asking _you _that question," he said, pointing his wand at a inconspicuous door set into a recess of the brick building behind them. It swung soundlessly and slowly open, almost with menace, and a wedge of light threw itself onto the cobblestone sidewalk. " Get inside. _Now_." He pointed a long finger at the doorway.

Hermione's already intense feelings of misgiving deepened, and she stayed rooted to the spot.

"_Well_, Miss Granger?" A pause. Snape let his hand relax for a moment, his fingers drooping elegantly. "It _is _still 'Miss Granger,' isn't it? You haven't gone off and married that insufferable Weasley yet, have you? Hogwarts doesn't have a dozen ginger-headed know-it-alls fouling up its halls, does it?"

_Marry? _ Hermione's mind struggled to keep up. Despite herself, she glanced at her ring finger and felt slightly emboldened when she saw that it lacked a wedding ring. _Well, at least _that's _not something I have to worry about ..._

There was another pause, in which Snape surveyed her through narrowed eyes and Hermione began to contemplate in earnest how many years she had traveled into the future.

Snape sneered. Then said, almost inaudibly, "No, perhaps not… I knew you would choose Potter."

Hermione gaped. Since when had Snape been interested in discussing her love life? _Anyone's _love life? "I—_What_? No, of course I haven't—"

"Oh stop," he snapped. "I wasn't asking. And your stuttering is repugnant. Get in, Miss Granger," and he jabbed his finger impatiently at the open doorway again. "I haven't the faintest idea how you've found me or why you're here, but we can't stand here all night. That is highly unwise."

Hermione hesitated, and deciding to try to discover Snape's loyalties, clutched her wand tighter in her hand and stepped forward. She followed Snape's finger into a very small flat filled with the flickering light.

"Is … Is this …? Do you live here, Professor?"

Snape made no answer, but something like a grimace tugged at one corner of his mouth.

She didn't know where she had expected Snape to live—perhaps someplace darkly glamorous, someplace remote and steeped in a melancholy, arcane brand of magic—but it certainly wasn't in a place like this, in a tiny flat on a dodgy street in the middle of muggle London.

She had stepped into the sitting room of a small apartment. The place had a sort of brown decrepitude about it, like a place of bottomless decline. But for all of this it did not strike her has unwelcoming.

Old leather chairs and a threadbare couch stood in the middle of the room, grouped around a low, rickety table which supported a large quantity of stubby candles. A fireplace stood against one wall, and the rest of the walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of books, mostly old leather ones that had cracked along the bindings.

"Sit," commanded Snape lazily as he closed the apartment door with a snap.

Hermione perched herself gingerly on one end of the couch, her wand tight in her fist.

"Old habits die hard, don't they, Miss Granger?"

"I'm sorry?"

"By all means keep your wand out, but I daresay you'll find it isn't remotely necessary." Snape sat opposite her and gestured to a plate of biscuits sitting on the table in front of her. "Have a biscuit."

"No, thank you," said Hermione promptly.

"They're not poisonous, I assure you."

"I'm not hungry," lied Hermione.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Don't be ridiculous. You're going to have a biscuit and then we're going to have a nice little chat."

Hermione eyed the plate suspiciously.

"Eat one, Miss Granger," said Snape, prodding the plate towards her.

Hermione stretched out a tentative hand towards the biscuit plate, her eyes trained on Snape's face.

"They're spider webs and lacewing eyes, mmm-mmm, my favorite." Hermione's eyes widened and she snatched her hand back.

Snape's mouth twitched. "You're all the same, you Gryffindors. They're dark chocolate almond praline. _Take one_."

Hermione let out a noise somewhere between a strangled laugh and a squeak of fright, and she took a biscuit. "Why are you being nice to me?" She asked, nibbling on a corner of chocolate.

Snape ignored her. Then, in a low voice, "Tell me. I am on pins and needles. You have arrived here on my doorstep without a hint of either forewarning or invitation and are in danger of trespassing upon my privacy to an unbearable extent." He shifted in his chair. It creaked with his weight. "Explain yourself. Has Potter sent you?"

Hermione hesitated. "I—" she began, but stopped abruptly, dropping her barely eaten biscuit. A series of soft thumps was issuing from behind one of the ceiling-high bookshelves. "Who's there?" she breathed, leaping to her feet and pointing her wand at the bookcase.

_Where were Harry and Ron at a time like this!_

"Allow me," Snape drawled.

With a bang, the bookcase swung forward to reveal a dimly lit hallway probing back into darkness beyond. A figure whose face she could not make out stooped at the threshold. Snape slipped swiftly through the doorway and the bookshelf closed again, swallowing him.

After a moment's hesitation, Hermione made her way to the bookcase and pressed her ear against it. _Why would Harry send her to Snape? Did this mean Harry trusted Snape, or that he didn't?_

"_Idiot boy,_" sounded Snape's harsh whisper on the other side of the shelves. "Have you no idea the danger in which you put yourself? And by extension, me?"

"I heard voices," said a second, sullen-sounding voice, addressing Snape.

"Of course you heard voices! The caterwauling jinx has been set off. Have you no sense of safety? I have told you a hundred times to remain invisible and quiet when visitors approach."

Hermione clutched one of the shelves, listening intently, her nose practically buried between two dusty volumes.

"I was just trying to hear who was there!" came the second voice again.

Hermione could hear the sneer in Snape's voice: "And here I thought Slytherins were supposed to be intelligent. Tell me, Draco, will you be this careless when your father comes here again searching for you?"

Hermione gasped. _Draco? _

Heavy footfalls told Hermione that Snape was pacing back and forth behind the shelf.

Snape continued: "He is still looking for you, believe me. He, for one, does not believe you to be dead. And I can only hide you while your intelligence remains intact and your recollection of what Voldemort's old supporters did to your mother remains at the forefront of your memory."

She tried to make out Draco's next words, but Snape's footfalls drowned them out.

"I don't _care_, Draco. I don't care if you think you've heard Harry Potter's name. I don't care if you think you've heard Potter's very own voice professing undying love to Peeves the Poltergeist! You _will _remain silent! _And you will look at me when I am talking to you_."

Hermione gulped, her shock at hearing Draco's voice ebbing slightly under the curiosity of the conversation unfolding mere inches from her.

"There is only _one_ person alive who can possibly hide you, and that is _me_. If I were to decide that your presence in my house was too much of a danger to me, believe me, you would be turned out."

There was a pause in which Draco mumbled something incoherent.

"That's right, Mr. Malfoy. I can see by the look of horror on your face that you grasp just how quickly your noble father would snatch you up. The current state of the Ministry demands your death as a deserter, and Lucius' position has fallen and he is desperate as ever. Do you not agree that he will do anything to regain his good standing? Some things still have not changed. Until things settle down, and until we can procure for you a proper disguise, you are to remain hidden."

A thrill rose in Hermione's throat that threatened to burst out of her, and she yearned even more to know what year it was. She pressed her ear even harder to the shelf, desperate to hear more details. It sounded as if Draco and Snape had deserted Voldemort …

"I—you're bluffing. You wouldn't turn me out."

"I assure you, I do not bluff. And I value my own life enormously."

Hermione's ears were met with silence for several seconds, and then she heard Draco concede to Snape's demands.

"Very well. You are fortunate, Draco," came Snape's voice again. "I very much doubt our guest will tattle on you…"

Hermione had barely a moment's warning to move. With another bang, the bookshelf swung outwards again, and Hermione flattened herself against the nearest chair, barely missing getting smashed.

She blinked, and the smaller figure's features came into focus: his pale, sculpted face had lost the haughtiness it had once borne so well, and the grey eyes revealed a sense of mourning she had not thought possible for him, but the blond hair, slight figure, and upturned mouth were just the same. Draco Malfoy had stepped into the room, followed by Snape.

"Miss Granger," Snape purred, turning to her. "I'm sure you recognize Mr. Malfoy when you eavesdrop on him." He gestured lazily to Draco.

"Well, well," drawled Draco, stepping towards her. "If it isn't the Mudblood Granger."

Hermione threw him a venomous look and straightened, clutching her wand at her side.

"Oh relax," laughed Draco, seeing this, "We're on the same side now, you and me."

Hermione balked, incredulity overcoming her sense of panic. "Oh? And which side is that, Malfoy? We'll never be on the same side so long as you call me 'Mudblood.'"

Draco laughed again, an unpleasant, harsh sort of sound, as Snape looked on, his beetle black eyes darting between Hermione and Draco.

"The _good_ side, as Potter calls it. You know, the side that won the war ... not that it's effects are over yet. Don't worry granger, I'm on the side that champions Mudbloods and blood traitors. The side of the Order and the Weasleys." He paused, letting out a long breath through his nose. "Well," he corrected himself maliciously, as if he could not quite help himself, "not all the Weasleys."

Hermione started, but it was Snape's voice that sounded first. "Enough, Draco."

"Why not all of the Weasleys?" Hermione demanded. She couldn't imagine that any of them had abandoned the Order.

"Tut, tut," sneered Draco, rounding on her. His face was not a breath's distance from hers. "You were there, Granger. Don't tell me you've forgotten the day my mother died along with half of the Weasley clan."

"I said _enough_!" Snape snarled as Hermione gasped. She took several steps back and knocked a number of candles off their spindly table. They snuffed themselves out on the carpet, leaving burn holes.

"No!" she said shakily, tears springing to her eyes as recognition popped in her mind. "They can't have been … I just saw them all … I was just now with …"

And with that, her breathing seemed to stop entirely. Because of course, here she was, several months, if not years in the future. She had not come here from the Burrow, where nine Weasleys were sleeping soundly in their beds, memories from the wedding lacing themselves into their dreams.

As though an exacting blow had been aimed at her gut, Hermione's mind seized on Ron. _Weasley_, she thought, _But surely not Ron …?_

Through her tears of shock and disbelief, Hermione could make out Snape wrestling Draco back into the room hidden by the ceiling-high bookcase.

_How many others_, she wondered. _How many others had been lost?_

She felt a strange tingling sensation begin in her hands and rise up through her body, as if she were melting into the air around her. "What year is it?" she yelled desperately at Snape's back. She caught one last glimpse of him with his wand prodding Draco's back, his face turned towards her in bewilderment before she found herself lying face-up on the carpeted floor of that parlor in Grimmauld Place, the very much alive faces of Harry and Ron blinking down at her.

* * *

Hermione kicked at a rock with the toe of her shoe, sending it sailing.

It was nearly dawn and a yellow line had stretching itself across the horizon, breaking the world in two, the dark halves separated by a clear bright line. Hermione was still awake, her mood going from merely blue to black, then a black so black it became some other color entirely.

She was mad at everything, she thought, striding along the edge of the duck pond at the outer boundary of the Burrow's back garden. Mad at the Time Turner. Mad at Dumbledore's note for making it seem safe. Mad at Malfoy for telling her about the future death of an unknown number of Weasleys. Mad at Snape for being abhorrent. Mad at herself for not ascertaining precisely which side he was working for or what year she had traveled to. Mad at Ron for again treating her like a damsel in distress …

She knew she wasn't being fair. _But damnit, why her?_

She kicked again, and another rock sailed off, landing in the very center of the duck pond with a satisfying _plunk_. A scurrying sound issuing from a nearby rosebush told her she had frightened a pair of garden gnomes with the sound.

"Good one," came a voice behind her, and Hermione spun around. Harry was several yards from her, his blurry outline growing slowly sharper in the inky darkness. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets to protect from the cool morning fog.

"Thanks," she said sardonically, and aimed kick at yet another unsuspecting rock. It spun across the smooth surface of the water.

"I guessed I might find you down here," he said.

"Did you?" She didn't turn around this time, but she could feel that he was closer to her now. Over her shoulder, she said, "Did you also guess that I might want to be alone?"

Harry paused. "No," he said finally. He seemed untroubled by her less than friendly welcome. "But I did think you might need the company of someone who wouldn't fawn over you."

Hermione frowned and said nothing, but privately agreed.

"I get it," he said, coming to a halt next to her as she continued to stare out over the pond. "I don't like people to fawn over me, either. You of all people are more than capable of taking care of yourself."

She nodded. "Thanks for that, Harry," she said seriously. She had finally yelled at Ron for his behavior, though by now she wished she hadn't, as it piled guilt on top of everything else. She cringed now, remembering that she had called him several ugly things, aware that he was just trying to help.

She dug up another rock with her toe and launched it clear across the water; it landed in a clump of grass on the opposite bank.

Harry gave an appreciative chuckle and leaned his shoulder into hers briefly. "I like this New Surly Hermione," he said lightly. "Feel like I have a comrade in arms."

Hermione let a smile tug at the corner of her mouth, and they lapsed into silence. They stood at the water's edge as if simply waiting for daylight to appear out of the darkness. The yellow line at the horizon had broadened and turned palest pink.

"You didn't tell us everything," said Harry quietly after a few minutes, and she turned to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time. They looked almost black in the dim light. "When you time-traveled to Snape's. You didn't tell us everything."

She said nothing and looked away. It was true, she thought. She had not told Harry and Ron everything. She had left out the fact that half of Ron's family would be dead within a few years, and that she did not know the fate of anyone else, let alone him.

"I'm not asking you to tell me," he said. "I'm just saying … I'm just saying that I get it. We're more alike that you might think. I'm here if you need me." Harry made to head back to the house, but he only walked a few feet before Hermione's voice stopped him.

"I never understood why you felt -- why you _feel_ -- so angry." She heard him turn to face her and she kept going. "I mean, I never truly understood how angry being powerless makes you feel." She paused, and kicked at yet another unsuspecting rock at the pond's edge. "I've never been so angry."

She hated that her voice trembled. Tears sprung into her eyes and she sank into the grass at the water's edge. "I'm _so _angry at the Time Turner. I wish I hadn't seen Snape in the future. I don't want to know … anything. I don't want to know what happens, I don't want to know who gets hurt, I don't want to know anything."

Harry strode back to her and sat next to her, slinging an arm around her shoulders. She folded herself into him.

"Are you telling me," said Harry quietly, "that if you were given a chance to know things about the future—like where Voldemort's Horcruxes are—that you wouldn't seize the opportunity?" He paused. "I know you, and you're far too curious for that. I know that _I'm_ too curious for that, when I travel into Voldemort's mind."

"I know," she answered. "And it's not really that. It's just …" Hermione struggled to voice what was going through her mind without telling Harry exactly what she had seen and heard at Snape's.

She sniffed back tears and continued. "It's just that nothing is under my own control anymore. I can't even get through _one day_ without getting whisked off to some other … I don't know, some other _time_ where something bad happens."

Harry nodded, and thumbed away a stream of tears that had reached her jawbone.

"It's like I'm seeing red all the time," she continued, gesticulating wildly, kind of hating herself for being this upset, this vulnerable. "It makes me want to … oh, I don't' know, _rebel_, you know? I want to streak the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch or … or go skinny dipping in this duck pond or … I don't know, transfigure Fleur into a bat."

She gave Harry a pained sort of look and was surprised when he let out a laugh. "Hermione," he said emphatically. "Hermione … believe me, that's completely and utterly understandable. Merlin knows I've felt that way _loads_ of times." He paused, rubbing her back absentmindedly. "Well, maybe not the skinny dipping, but—"

Hermione leaned forward and pressed her lips to hers.

She could feel Harry's body go rigid with shock, and she reached up to lace her fingers in the hairs at the base of his neck, but Harry pulled away, panting slightly.

"Hermione, no … what're you … you don't know what you're …"

She drew his head down gently and their noses touched. She was sure Harry could feel the wet on her cheeks. "But I _do _know, Harry. Please?"

She pressed her lips to his cheek, to his closed eyelids, pressed her mouth to the corner of his.

Harry trembled slightly, and his hand gripped the back of her sweater.

She was hardly playing fair, thought Hermione. A seventeen-year-old boy, a stew of hormones, spending most days trying not to think about his former girlfriend.

"I'm already a target, Harry," she whispered, resting her cheek against his, letting his breath sound raggedly in her ear. "I'm already attached, and I … I'm dying to do something of my own free will. Now, before the time travel takes me again … Please …"

Hermione ran her fingers down Harry's throat and kissed the spot below his ear where his heart beat the loudest, and he let out a low groan.

"I don't know, Hermione … Maybe you should try transfiguring Fleur into a bat. You _do _know how to do that, right?"

Hermione felt her lips turn up into a grin and she looked up, catching Harry's eye. There was something fierce there, meant just for her, and suddenly it was all too much and she began to laugh, laugh so hard that she flopped backward onto the grass. Her hair became damp with dew and her eyes registered the stars fading out of the sky as daylight crept in, she finally breathed herself into silence. Harry hovered over her, some unrecognizable expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said, now sober. "I was a bit rash."

Harry let out a small bark of laughter and lay back next to her in the grass. "I certainly think you were a bit un-Hermione-ish."

She nodded, another chuckle escaping her mouth. She watched the sky lighten above her in order to avoid looking at him. "I know. You're angry with me?"

Harry shifted restlessly beside her and she could feel him looking at her. "I think Ron might be, if he found out. He'd be mad at me, anyway, that I found out that you're a good kisser before he did."

Hermione groaned. "I shouldn't have yelled at him. And I probably shouldn't have kissed you … you know, if I were thinking straight, I wouldn't have. Should I apologize again?"

Harry stood up, brushing the grass from his trousers and looking towards the widening horizon. "Hermione, 'angry' isn't at all what I'm feeling towards you right now. I'm kinda glad you weren't thinking straight, at least for a few moments." He offered her a hand and she struggled to her feet. "C'mon. Let's go get some toast. And then let's go see about finding some Horcruxes."

Lights had appeared in the kitchen window of the Burrow, beckoning, drawing them in. Hermione felt her embarrassment ebb, and as they walked back to the house and towards the bright patch of light in the kitchen window, she knew that one day soon she would have to tell Harry what she learned from Malfoy in the future.

* * *

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